Page 4 of The Woodcarver's Model
“Gotta go.”
He disconnected from the call. Rob took a deep breath, then took a long draw on his bottle of Wheel Rat and stared out into the harbour.I’m fine with things just the way they are.
Chapter Three
After a good long sleep and a light breakfast, Rob sat at his desk, coffee within reach, typing away at the keyboard, transcribing his notes, occasionally writing out phrases and making structural comments which would form the shape of his story. And what a story this one would be. A sixty-thousand-word tale of ugliness and violence among a beautiful people who could not be crushed.Thiswas what he lived for—shining a light into the dark, illuminating a path into a new world for his readers. Now, if only he’d been shot on that last night. Not seriously, just a flesh wound. He would have had Errol photograph it. A nice rich black-and-white image focused on the wound. What a cover that would have made forOne Man in Mogadishu.It would be a bestseller. He needed one of those right about now. It had been five years sinceOne Man Against the Mountainhad won him the Governor General’s Award for non-fiction and a modest film deal. It wasn’t a huge amount of money, but how many people could claim that Tom Cruise had played them in a film?
His phone rang. Rob was so focused on his writing he answered without checking caller ID.
“Rob Hanson.”
“Robert, sweetheart. How are you?” said a raspy voice that spoke of years of too many cigarettes and too much scotch. It was Estelle, Rob’s seventy-year-old literary agent.
“Estelle. How are you?”
He stood and took his coffee into the living room. A call from Estelle could last a while. Through the window, his eye caught the sight of a majestic three-masted tall ship sailing towards the harbour.
“…invoice from Errol.” There was a long pause on the phone. “Are you even listening to me?” she asked.
“Sorry, Estelle. The brain’s still a bit drifty. What did you say?”
“I asked if it was all right to go ahead and pay the invoice from Errol?”
“Of course you can. Wait—you never ask me about things like that. What’s up?”
“How was your trip?”
There was another long pause as he looked out the window. He’d always wanted to take a cruise on a ship like that. It took him back to his childhood—
“Look, if you’re too busy right now…”
“No. No…ah. It was great. I think the manuscript will write itself. In the meantime, I can come up with a teaser piece for you to send out to the magazines.”
“That’s what I like to hear. So, it all went smoothly,” she coughed out.
“Couldn’t have gone smoother.”
“Aside from the street killing.”
Rob hadn’t planned on telling her this soon. “Who snitched?”
“You keep secrets from me, Robert. I keep some from you. Look, I’m not your mother. I don’t judge you. You don’t judge me. So, now that the gunfight at the OK Corral is over and done with, I need you to do me a favour. You like islands?”
“Y—es,” he said hesitantly.
“I figured. You live on one, after all. Anyway, my friend atWest Coast Travelmagazine needs a quick two thousand words on Marsh Island. Ever heard of it?”
“Never.”
“Neither have I. But Cedric needs an article and I’m not about to let him down.”
“Cedric,” Rob thought aloud. “Isn’t that the name of the guy you’ve been seeing?”
“Yes, Mr Nosy. He flies into Toronto forvisits, and he’s the best lay I’ve had since the first Trudeau was in power, so I’m not about to fuck this up. So, are you going to help me out?”
“If it’ll help your sex life, you bet.” He laughed.
“Good. Now, his secretary’s sick so you’ll have to sign the contract when you get out there. Okay?”
